


Come Away, Forget With Me

by araliya



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 18:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14550456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/araliya/pseuds/araliya
Summary: Of road trips and beaches and kitchen tiles. In other words, a much needed vacation.





	Come Away, Forget With Me

[Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DR2LQdh42neg&t=N2M3ZjI4Y2UwOTRlOTQwNDI1ZTU3MGIzZDIyZDhlYzgzNzgzYTUwMCxpWmdtUHRDNA%3D%3D&b=t%3Aqovu990NqfKEhXfG-SI8vg&p=https%3A%2F%2Faraliyaintheskywithdiamonds.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F173601543202%2Fcome-away-forget-with-me-a-crisscolfer-fic&m=1)

 

_(made you smile and look away)_

 

Darren is guitar riffs, faded t-shirts, and dark-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses. He’s beard burn on the soft insides of Chris’ thighs and coffee mug rings left on sheet music on the dining room table.

 

He’s green eyes in the morning and amber eyes in the evening, lit like candles in the darkness as they slow dance on the carpet.

 

Darren is “come away with me, darling” and “one kiss for no and two kisses for yes” and Chris is sort of, very much, helpless.

 

_(as long as you're with me, you'll be just fine)_

 

They leave the cat at a friend’s and take the dogs, back seats prepped with a mountain of dog blankets and precautionary plastic seat covers.

 

Before they leave, Darren pushes Chris against the car door, kisses him like a teenager after a dinner-date, and pops Chris’ sunglasses down onto his nose when he pulls away. “Ready when you are,” he says, and Chris can feel the warmth flooding from him like a hearth.

 

They take turns with their road trip playlists, blasting it obnoxiously loud or whisper-quiet, depending. Darren sings to Franki Valli and Chris sings to Angus and Julia Stone, and they both sing to The Smiths, crying  _please, please, please_  with their hands to their hearts.

 

When the dogs stop barking to every song they take a liking to, and the freeway opens up onto winding roads, they roll the windows down and let the warm evening air blow through.

 

Chris falls asleep to a band he’s never heard before, Darren softly singing over and over,  _nothing’s gonna hurt you baby_. As his eyelids drop and his vision blurs, Chris believes every word.

 

_(and we laugh into the microphone and sing)_

 

Opening the door to Chris’ beach house unleashes a flood of technicolor memories.

 

He remembers coming here in search of escape once- when he hadn’t spoken to Darren for months- and not even lasting ten minutes. Everything, everywhere, reminded Chris of him.

 

The walls- _(Darren at a little indie artist’s hole in the village, eyes alight as he gushed to the painter)_ , the furniture-  _(sand_ everywhere _as they wrestled wet clothes off their bodies, bumping hips and elbows into the hardwood),_  the bathroom-  _(messages written in shaving cream across the wide mirror and toothpaste-flavoured kisses)_ , the bedroom-  _(cool white sheets and Darren’s olive-skinned limbs stretched out over them)_ -

 

Chris remembers stepping inside and barely getting past the doorway- Darren’s god-awful Dollar Tree flip flops had been tucked next to the doormat from the last time they’d been there.

 

Chris had taken one look at them, and fled.

 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Darren says, curling his body around Chris’ as they stand in the hallway. Chris melts into his touch, leans back a little, turns to kiss the side of Darren’s neck.

 

“Nothing big,” he lies.

 

And it is a lie. Those few months had, at the time, felt like the hardest of his life. 

 

_(when we dance in my living room)_

 

Going to bed at seven thirty results in waking up at five, and they take their blankets down to the pier and watch the dogs get soaking wet in the sea spray. 

 

As Cooper licks salt water off his nose and Fitz chases a hermit crab, Darren draws Chris close.

 

“When I was thirteen years old,” he starts to say, “I went to band camp for the first time. The cabin had three other boys, and I fell in love with one of them.”

 

Chris stares at Darren, who shrugs.

 

“Well, as in love as a seventh grader could get, I guess. I completely changed when I was around him. I smiled hard and I laughed even harder and I didn’t know why, but I wanted him to see me happy. I guess I wanted him to think that he’d be just as happy if he were with me.”

 

Cooper accidentally trods on the hermit crab and Fitz, mercifully distracted, sniffs at some seaweed.

 

“On the last night, we played seven minutes in heaven, and he spent a solid fourteen of them with a trumpet player from Minnesota in the laundry room. I went to bed early and cried a little, and that’s when I realised that I’d been in love with him.”

 

“What happened?”

 

Darren laughs softly. “Nothing. We went home, I wrote a terrible song about him, and that was the end of it. Completely forgot about him until I met you.”

 

Chris raises an eyebrow and Darren gives him a squeeze. “It’s how I realised I was in love with you. You did to me what he did, except infinitely more.” He pauses. “All I ever knew, in my stupid, newly-minted college graduate mind, was that I wanted you to be happy with me.”

 

“Darren-”

 

“Are you?” he asks quietly. His hair is windblown and his eyes are serious and Chris, for some reason, wants to cry.

 

“Just because it’s hard, it doesn’t mean I’m not happy, sweetheart. You- Dare, sometimes I don’t have  _words_  for how you make me feel. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is for me?”

 

Darren laughs, and the mood is lifted. “Well  _I’m_  sorry.”

 

Chris feigns reluctance as he kisses him. “You should be, asshole,” he murmurs, and they simultaneously duck and shield themselves when the dogs bound over to them, wet and covered in sand.

 

_(nothing's gonna hurt you baby)_

 

One afternoon, they end up on the kitchen floor, scooping nutella out of the jar with sundae spoons while they wait for their chocolate and banana toasties to bake.

 

Darren looks like the picture of contentment: hair wild and beard even wilder, his little belly poking out over the top of his shorts. He licks the front and the back of the spoon, once, twice, and grins over at Chris lazily.

 

They exchange a glance, charged and heavy, and Chris doesn’t have to think twice about crawling over to him on hands and knees. Spoons clatter to the floor and a glass jar is knocked aside and Chris ends up flat on his back on the kitchen floor, the tiles etching faint lines into his shoulder blades.

 

Darren is warm and heady all around him, all sticky fingers and sweet, chocolate-flavored kisses, and Chris loses himself in it.

 

In the gentle touch of palms skidding down his waist and thumbs touching and pressing and parting. In the hot, intense, throb as Chris breaks into two, as Darren tucks his face into the hollow of Chris’ collar- as he hears cries, loud and piercing and embarrassingly unabashed- only to realize that they’re his own.

 

In the cloying smell of sex and sweat and chocolate, heady and intoxicating around them as he and Darren lie there afterwards, until the tiles grow cold and sticky. 

 

Darren pulls Chris up by his hands and pushes back his sweat-slick hair. They don’t need to say anything- seven years of love and loss and joy and heartbreak will do that.

 

Instead, Chris pokes at Darren’s stomach, ducks out from underneath his grabby arms, and tries not to trip on stray dog toys as he makes a dash for the shower.

 

_(nothing's gonna hurt you baby)_


End file.
